


At Once, At Last

by rc1788



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bartender Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RILEY IS ALIVE I LOVE AUS, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers is a dork, Stucky - Freeform, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, alternative universe, we don't deserve sam wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 12:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11207988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc1788/pseuds/rc1788
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a disabled OEF/OIF veteran that's trying to find his place in the world. Turns out, he's not that different from Captain America, the Man Out of Time. Maybe, just maybe, Steve and Bucky's place is wherever they're together.





	At Once, At Last

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Artwork](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/299946) by Muirific. 



> This is a modern!Bucky AU where he's an army veteran that fought in Afghanistan (and Sam Wilson is his best friend and college roommate!). All the other characters from the MCU are basically the same! c: I imagine this takes place around the same time as CA:TWS (fall of 2014).
> 
> Please enjoy the lovely artwork by Muirific!! Thank you so much for letting me write a story based off of your art!

_Sam’s House Washington, D.C.  
0500 Hours_

The high pitched chirp of an incoming FaceTime call made Bucky flinch and sit up straight in bed. “Jesus,” he muttered, and flung his arm at his phone, somehow managing to accept the call.

“Bucky!” his sister Becca’s voice rang from the screen. “Hey, where are you?”

“I’m still in bed,” he muttered. And by “bed,” he meant “couch,” but those were one and the same for him.

“So I get to stare at your ceiling, then? You texted me yesterday and told me to make sure you were up at 5.”

“Wait, what time is it there?”

“2 AM.”

Bucky picked up his phone and glared at Becca. “This is not what I meant by ‘make sure I get up.’”

“I’m up anyway! I just got home.” Becca had makeup on that Bucky wasn’t used to seeing on her, so he knew she’d been ‘out.’ Sometimes he forgot she was twenty-five years old and not his kid sister anymore. “You look like shit, dude,” Becca said.

“ _Thanks_. You’re the best.”

She smiled big and bright at him, and he could see she’d started going through her fridge. “So today’s the big day?”

“What big day?” Bucky didn’t remember telling her where he was going.

“Your appointment with prosthetics. You’ve only been waiting six months to do it.”

“Oh. Mom told you.”

“What, like it’s a big secret?”

“I dunno. In case it doesn’t happen, didn’t want everybody getting all worked up about it. This is the VA we’re talking about.”

Becca’s eyes flickered in the direction of Bucky’s left shoulder, where his arm was missing from the sleeve of the t-shirt he slept in. “So… seeing anybody special?”

“Really?” Bucky asked flatly. “You’re changing the subject to _that_?”

“Come on! You never call me! And you take two days to answer my texts and all you do is send me gifs of, like, dogs getting hit in the face with frisbees.”

Bucky snickered. “Cuz they’re funny.”

“Question still stands, James.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out a sigh full of regret. He didn’t need anybody like that right now. Crashing on his best friend’s couch and working a job that was given to him out of pity didn’t exactly set Bucky up to be the most eligible bachelor in Washington D.C. Not to mention the fact that Bucky didn’t know how to find a boyfriend. Phone apps for booty calls didn’t fix the fact that he was stupidly self conscious about getting in bed with a stranger. No, it was really best for him to fly solo.

“Nope,” he said finally. “Sam is still, tragically, straight.”

“Awww.” Becca pouted. “Great news for us ladies, though.”

“ _Whatever_. When is the last time you dated a dude? Was it even in this decade?”

“Look at the time! I better go to bed. Good luck!”

“Becca--”

“Love you bye!”

“Bye.”

After rolling off the couch, Bucky dragged himself into the kitchen, realizing when the bottom of his right foot touched the cold tile that he was only wearing one sock. Sam’s favorite coffee mug still sat untouched by the coffeemaker, which meant he hadn’t been home yet. _Hmmm_. Sam went out Saturday night and said he’d be spending the night somewhere (with a wink emoji) which meant he spent _two_ nights somewhere, and that got Bucky’s interest. (He knew Sam was okay because at 3 AM, Sam texted him a Kermit meme about eating an entire pizza.)

Two ham and cheese Hot Pockets spun in the microwave and Bucky zoned out watching the timer tick.

He told himself he wouldn’t bank on making any progress on getting a prosthetic arm. That was why he waited two years to even bother starting the process. It took him this long to even accept that he’d lost the arm, to adjust to it, and adding something back on his left side was going to throw him off all over again. He got along fine without it, but everybody--mom, Becca, his therapist, his doctors--recommended, or _insisted_ , that he utilize the VA services and get a new arm.

“Just-- _you know_ \--in case,” his mother told him on the phone about a month ago.

“In case what? The VA gets cancelled?”

“You know what I mean!” Mom huffed at him, exasperated from arguing.

He kind of didn’t. Everybody made a big deal about his missing arm, and if Bucky had known its absence would be mourned more than his being gone for two tours in Afghanistan, maybe he’d have tried harder not to go and lose it.

“Okay,” he told Mom.

“Okay what?”

“I’ll get a hook hand if it’ll make you happy.”

“It’s not about--it’s not about _me_ being happy, James. It’s for you. And your future.”

Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed at it. “I gotta go. Bye.”

The cabinet above the microwave housed soup bowls and mismatched water bottles and lids, and Bucky’s medications. He took the pill planner and flipped open the pocket for Monday AM and sighed at the three tablets housed inside. The pharmacy bottles sat tucked away in the back of the cabinet, each with Sam’s scribbled handwriting letting Bucky know what each was for. MOOD, one read. SLEEP, read another. And then, hesitantly, Bucky explained one was supposed to be for nightmares, and Sam nodded.

“Had that one, too,” Sam had said as he wrote NIGHTMARES on the bottle. “They got quite the formula.”

“That last one’s the crazy pill,” Bucky told him, pointing to the only unmarked bottle. Sam and Bucky compared notes when Bucky started all of his meds--Sam had been on most of the same stuff, too, except for this last one. The shrink said it should help with Bucky’s mood swings and angry outbursts, and help him sleep, too. Bucky never in a million years thought he’d be taking an “antipsychotic.”

“I’m not writing that,” said Sam.

“Well, it is.”

SLEEP - 2, Sam wrote with a frown.

Sam got back from his Afghanistan tours eight months before Bucky, and that was two years ago. Some days it felt like Sam had been back a whole century. He had a job at the VA and ran a PTSD support group (having graduated the PTSD treatment program himself). He had a house and a car and good credit and by all accounts “had his shit together.”

Meanwhile, Bucky couldn’t hold down a job without doing something stupid like missing an entire shift or blowing up at customers and coworkers when shit hit the fan. Bucky was sick of having to fill out job applications and sitting down for interviews. A staffing company tried to get him set up in an office one time, but having to deal with the sleazy managers and company politics made Bucky quit faster than he could fuck it up for himself.

The doctors put all kinds of diagnoses on his medical file. PTSD, depression, sleep disorder, generalized anxiety. He had medications for all of it. Some he had to take every day, some “as needed.” The first month they threw all the treatments at him, he slept for most of the day at his mom’s house. The kind of restless sleep where he woke up still feeling hungover, and at night he _couldn’t_ sleep, so he stayed up listening to music and smoking by the window of his bedroom.

Shit went on like that for a long time. The way time passed seemed uneven and cruel--a night felt like a whole week, and a month felt like a second. His first year back, Bucky drifted along like a ghost, never really present for anything. He smoked a lot, avoided going anywhere except Walmart at 1 AM or the gas station. Mom nagged him all the time, Becca called or texted him every day and maybe got a response 5% of the time. Reconnecting with his life before going to Afghanistan was more painful and impossible than it had been to leave in the first place.

Bucky took his breakfast outside with his coffee in a thermos tucked under his arm. Sat on the porch swing and watched cars go up and down the street as the sun came up. The neighbor’s cat hopped onto the porch and sat at Bucky’s feet, flicking her tail and watching the world go by with him.

His stomach tied itself up in knots--going to the VA made him nervous. The drive, the traffic, the parking, the maze of a building. So he planned it out in his head: he’d park in the new parking garage, even though it was on the opposite side of the hospital from the outpatient clinics. Then he’d walk through to the clinic and get checked in. At his last physical appointment leading up to this, they went ahead and scheduled him for a followup appointment with the therapist he’d been stiffing for the better part of six months, then he had physical and occupational therapy, and finally, prosthetics. If the appointments were on time (and they wouldn’t be), he’d make it to work by 4.

Reaching for his phone, Bucky sent Sam a GIF of a red panda being startled by a zookeeper and said “tfw u gotta spend all day at the VA”.

\---

 _Washington DC VA Medical Center Cafeteria  
_ _1300 Hours_

“Earth to Captain America.”

Steve Rogers snapped out of his daze and sat up in his seat with a startled blink.

Across the table sat Sam Wilson with an inquisitive grin on his face. His eyes traced Steve’s line of sight to the cafeteria soda machine where a man with one arm was struggling to fill a cup with Mountain Dew.

“Uhm.” Steve felt a little heat rise into his cheeks. He’d been staring at the guy at the soda machine while Sam went over the details of Steve’s meet and greet with a group of veterans. Not a _great_ way to prepare, Steve knew, but drawing his attention away from his nerves seemed like a good idea a second ago. The guy in question had long hair and was trying to balance his cup on the counter and push the button for Mountain Dew at the same time. The second Steve thought to get up and help him, a woman offered to hold the guy’s cup, and he went on his way. He, of course, chose a table near where Steve and Sam were sitting, which meant Steve got an even _better_ look at him--a handsome face and clear blue eyes, scruffy and unkempt in an old shirt with a wolf printed on the front.

Sam snorted. He easily spotted the guy and tilted his head toward him. “What? _Him_?”

“I was--” Steve awkwardly fiddled with a pen and knew the red color in his face totally gave him away. To what? Staring? Sam wouldn’t care either way if Steve thought the guy was cute. _Wait_. _Did_ he think the wolf shirt guy was cute?

“Staring?” Sam prompted.

“Yeah,” Steve said guiltily.

“Think he’s cute?” Sam went on, leaning forward on the table and smirking. It took Sam about five minutes of talking to Steve after they ran into each other (again) on a morning run to figure out Steve was awkwardly trying to ask him out on a coffee date, which he accepted, but as a friend. Sam was, sadly, straight.

“I dunno. I--what time are we supposed to be there, anyway?”

The purposeful change of subject wasn’t lost on Sam, as he still had that snarky grin on his face. “In about twenty minutes. Listen--if you want--we could go grab a beer or something tonight?”

“Oh! Yeah! Sure.”

“That is, if you aren’t busy saving the world or rescuing cats stuck in trees. Whatever it is you do.”

Steve shrugged and tried not to laugh at Sam’s assessment of his schedule. “It’s a lot less exciting than you might think.” A lot of lonely nights in his apartment, too, despite Natasha’s best efforts to find him dates. In fact, it was a _good night_ if he got stuck at the SHIELD office having to research something for Fury or going over mission briefs. Even better if he got sent out on a long term mission. It was easier for Steve to live for his duty to serve--truthfully, he didn’t have much outside of SHIELD.

“Judging by the look on your face, you may be missing out on some big plans to stay in tonight, huh?”

“It’s… been awhile since I did anything fun, yeah.” Steve ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Thanks, Sam.”

“You’re welcome.” Sam started getting up from the table. He leaned over and gave Steve a pat on the arm. “I know what it’s like. Minus the being frozen part.” Sam rolled his eyes at himself. “You know what I mean.”

\---

_Shilly Shally’s Bar  
2030 Hours_

Sam told Steve to meet him at a bar called Shilly Shally’s around 9 PM, so naturally Steve arrived a half hour early (in case he hit traffic or something… okay, fine, maybe there wasn’t gonna be any traffic at that hour). This could go one of two ways: somebody would recognize him and he’d have to take a bunch of pictures and leave (and go to bed early!), or he’d grab a couple of drinks with Sam and they’d catch up. It was a win-win, really.

The bar was a little dark; it was a deep walnut, framing the room with impressive beams. A few people Steve judged to be in their early to late twenties sat around the bar talking while rock music played. Pieces of artwork hung on the walls with the artist’s names and prices listed next to them. Hanging above the bar were two TV screens, one showing what looked like an old horror film with cheesy special effects, and the other showed a baseball game.

Steve took a seat at one of the bar stools and glanced over at the bartender.

 _Shit_.

The long haired veteran with one arm from the VA cafeteria slid a glass of beer to another patron, then rounded on Steve.

“What can I get you?”

Bucky mentally patted himself on the back for asking the usual question without his voice cracking or something. The guy that sat down at the bar was… _wow_.

“What do you recommend?” Steve asked with a small smile.

“You like beer?” Bucky practically barked. It was the only way he could get the words out without his voice cracking or asking accidentally _you like dick_? His heart raced. If his face was visibly red, he could have jumped in front of a bus. Shit.

“I do.”

“Okay.” Bucky paused half a beat and openly stared at the guy. Blond. He was blond with blue eyes and broad shoulders and a really, really tight t-shirt under a blue jacket. “How about a blond ale?”

“Sure!”

“One blond ale for the blond guy, coming right up.” Bucky smirked and ignored how goddamn _perfect_ the guy’s smile was (ha! and he got the blond joke!) and turned away to grab a pint glass. _He’s cute he’s cute he’s cute he’s cute he’s cute_ \--

The blond ale poured from the tap, and Bucky was so distracted by the thought that this incredibly gorgeous guy was flirting with him (or _was_ he--he _was_ though, totally, that fucking flirtatious smile--goddammit--) that he almost overfilled the glass. “Shit,” he muttered almost inaudibly as he quickly set the glass aside and stopped the tap. It took him two more short pours to finally fill up the pint. He quickly took the glass and rubbed the bottom of it on a rag to get the spilled beer off of it and turned around to give it to Hot Guy.

“Thank you so much,” Steve said as the bartender gave him the beer. He smiled and tipped the glass to him before taking a sip. The flavor was light, citrusy, and a little wheaty. Sam got him into craft beers the moment they met so he’d been getting used to all the styles and flavors of beer that were popular.

The bartender looked like he was about to say something when someone from the other side of the bar got his attention. With a lingering glance, he turned away to help the other customer, leaving Steve to over analyze the 90 second interaction.

Really, Steve shouldn’t be thinking anything of it--for the amount of times Nat or Sam tried to set him up with somebody, when Steve declined because he was too busy, it was the _truth_. Even if he had a lot of alone time when he wasn’t working, Steve couldn’t imagine being in a relationship and leaving to go on missions for SHIELD while somebody worried at home for him.

 _Bzzt. Bzzt_. Steve’s phone went off in his pocket and he fished it out.

Natasha Romanoff: hey steve  
Natasha Romanoff: we got a hit  
Natasha Romanoff: deployment in 30, meet me at HQ in 10

_Shit!_

Bucky returned to talk to Hot Guy, only to find the beer half-gone, and a twenty dollar bill on the table. He could have pouted, but he didn’t.

About a half hour later Sam arrived and sat at the bar looking only a little confused. “Was Steve here?”

“Steve who?” Bucky asked.

“Steve Rogers? Captain America?”

Bucky shook his head a little to maintain he had no fucking clue what Sam was talking about.

“Dude. C’mon. 6 foot-something, blond hair, puppy dog eyes?”

“Wait.” Bucky dropped the rag he was holding. “ _What_?”

“I was gonna meet him for drinks but--” Sam looked down at his phone. “Oh. Damn it.”

“He was--yeah, he was here.” _Shit shit shit shit shit_.

Sam set his phone on the counter and smiled up at Bucky like he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. “What’s with the face, man? You spooked that you met Captain America and didn’t know it?”

“He’s spooked he flirted with Steve Rogers and didn’t know it,” one of the Shilly Shally regulars, Dave, muttered beside Sam.

“Shut the fuck up!” Bucky snapped.

Well, _that’s_ a disaster. Captain America walked right up to the bar and was handsome and nice and courteous and Bucky _didn’t even know it_.

 _Shit_. Bucky blinked and tried to imagine Hot Guy with a dorky helmet. The truth was, Bucky hadn’t busied himself with all that noise about Captain America, enhanced humans, all of that. When Rogers was defrosted two years ago, Bucky was recovering from the IED that earned him a Purple Heart. Events like the Incident in New York seemed too farfetched to be real to him. The whole year after he got home was kind of a blur anyway, and it seemed as if not a whole lot had happened since then (except for Tony Stark and an army of Iron Man drones having some sort of battle over the Hudson, but to Bucky that was not as impressive as the airline pilot that saved his crew and passengers from a wayward goose accident).

Still, he’d apparently just flirted with and served Captain America at the humble little bar he worked at. Maybe Bucky thought seeing a superhero for the first time would be more exciting. Maybe he’d had one too many dreams about Thor pulling him out of the wreckage of an alien attack. If Bucky was 100% truthful, Steve Rogers wasn’t actually the type of guy he’d normally go for, on account of how handsome and put together he was. In some ways, Rogers looked like a popular jock guy in high school that Bucky would have hated.

Sam still had that tiny satisfied smile on his face.

“What?” Bucky snapped at him.

“Nothing.”

“ _What_?”

“I was planning your July 4th wedding to Steve Rogers.”

All it took was a _look_ from Bucky and Sam backed off with a wave of his hand.

“So, how’d it go at the VA today?”

Bucky swiped a cloth over the surface of the bar counter and glanced up at Sam. “They fitted me for a prosthetic.”

“That’s great news.” Sam’s brow rose at Bucky. “Right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don’t go and get all excited, Barnes. You’re embarrassing me.”

Bucky scowled at Sam and went down the bar to refill another customer’s water. Shilly Shally’s wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it was _some_ thing, and so far Bucky worked three solid months without completely going off on somebody. He did get into a minor altercation with an asshole, but his boss, Riley, actually listened to what happened and ended up banning the guy for life. Bucky really owed Sam for getting him the job at Riley’s bar, and he owed Riley for not being a royal, grade A dick that trusted him.

Riley and Sam were old war buddies, and for some reason Sam thought Bucky would make a good bartender.

“I feel like there are a lot of jobs that I could get away with only having one hand, and… bartending is _not_ one of them,” Bucky told Sam.

“It’ll take you a week to get the license. You’ll know after the first day if you wanna do it. At least try?”

Sam and Bucky always pushed each other, and Bucky realized lately that _only_ Sam had been pushing him. Bucky stared at his friend for half a beat, thinking about all those times Sam needed to be pushed. When Sam thought he wasn’t wasn’t good enough to become a math tutor in college, or when Sam hesitated to do Alicia Keys at karaoke, Bucky had been there for him to encourage him. Back in college, it was a two way street. Now Bucky felt like he was sucking the life out of Sam. Now, when shit _really_ mattered, Bucky was using all of Sam’s support and crashing on his couch. “Okay,” he agreed.

Maybe it takes your life really going to shit for you to appreciate the small things, like getting a job at the mercy of your friend’s network connections, and making your first good tip. The atmosphere at the bar was relaxed, too. Shilly Shally’s was a place for a younger crowd, the edgier kids that Bucky would have been friends with.

“How come you didn't tell me you knew Captain America?” Bucky asked Sam, ever apt at changing the subject.

“It’s not an exciting story. We met a couple weeks ago when I was out running.”

“You met Captain America while you were,” and Bucky made a dramatic, disgusted face at the idea, “ _running_?”

“Yup. So then he came and saw me at the VA after I ran group, and--”

“Have you been staying at his house all weekend?”

“ _No_.”

“Okay, just checking.”

Sam took a sip from his beer and watched Bucky for half a beat.

“Well, are you gonna tell me where you’ve been the past two nights?” Bucky asked.

“Do I ask about your date nights with Jack Daniel’s, Barnes?”

Bucky pressed his mouth into a pout. He wasn’t going to argue with Sam on this point--Sam already won. They’d known each other long enough (since college, which felt like another lifetime) to know how to push each other’s buttons, and when to stop. Sam struck a nerve there. “Y’know what…” Bucky grabbed his phone and opened a Wikipedia search, found the creator of Jack Daniel’s (Jack Daniel,) and slid the mustachioed, cowboy hat wearing man over the counter for Sam to see. “I’d tap that.”

Sam choked on his beer.

\---

 _SHIELD HQ_  
_Conference Room G  
_ _2100 Hours_

“Sorry you had to cancel the first plans you’ve made since 1945,” said Natasha.

“That’s not--” Steve inhaled and switched his tone real fast, knowing Nat was trying to get a rise out of him. She watched him as she leaned against the wall beside one of the SHIELD conference rooms. “It’s okay.”

Steve shifted his weight to one leg and stared at the closed conference room door as if willing it to open. Fury and Hill were in there, he knew, and a few other SHIELD higher ups. Nat said their surveillance of a ranch in Bozeman, Montana actually paid off--somebody was stockpiling a hell of a cache of weapons, and whoever it was, they knew what they were doing. Steve was a little miffed that neither him nor Natasha were given access to the briefing, even though they would be the two agents to lead the raid.

“You met Barnes?” Nat asked.

“Who?”

Natasha folded in her lips to contain a smile and tilted her head at him. “James Barnes? Sam’s roommate?” A pause. “Long hair and one arm?”

“Oh-- _God_ \--” Steve took a half step away and smoothed a hand over his hair. “That’s Sam’s roommate?”

“I think he is the one and only James Barnes in the District of Columbia, yes.”

“I had no idea.” Steve paced the floor as everything started to fall together. Sam referenced his roommate a couple of times as his best friend from college, Army veteran, crashing on his couch… and multiple mentions of _you should meet him sometime_.

“Why are you having a meltdown right now? Did you kick his puppy or something?”

“Sam caught me staring at James at the VA, and then I guess he set me up to meet him at the bar, and…” Steve looked at Natasha and glared. “You _knew_ , too, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, and this mission could _not_ have had worse timing. You hit it off with Barnes?”

“Not… really… I dunno.” Steve’s cheeks flushed. Steve never flirted successfully with anybody in his entire life. “ _Why_?”

“I’ve been trying to set you up with someone for eighteen months. Haven’t really been subtle about it. So I’m asking, Steve.”

 _Oh. Right_. Steve’s brow lifted and he shook his head noncommittally. “He’s cute. And apparently he’s Sam’s best friend. But that’s all I really know.”

Natasha looked down at her phone and started typing furiously. That could only mean trouble.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

“I am… finding Barnes on social media… oh, _Bucky_ Barnes. Huh. Instagram, Twitter--not updated since 2010.”

“ _Nat_.”

“What? Stalking people on social media is a good habit to get into.” Nat smiled and went back to her phone. Steve knew as well as anybody that Nat with any piece of electronics in her hands could mean bad news for somebody. “Let’s go _deeper_ …”

Steve found himself standing across from Nat, still uncomfortable with the whole idea of going through James--Bucky-- _Barnes’s_ social media, but from what was explained to Steve, anything posted to the “Internet” was public knowledge for anybody who found it. The way Nat started concentrating made him think she’d gone above and beyond social media, though.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Staff Sergeant, served in the 107th Infantry... _excellent_ firing range scores… two tours in Afghanistan… earned a Purple Heart.” Nat’s eyes flickered at Steve, knowing exactly where his mind was racing. “Howling Commandos. And…”

Steve looked up because she trailed off. A crinkle worked its way onto her brow.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Nat replied distantly. “I thought the SSR retired the Howling Commandos.”

“I think that’s enough, Nat.”

As if on cue, the conference room door slid open long enough for Maria Hill to step out. She looked between Natasha and Steve and nodded for them to follow her. She was one who had to walk while talking--always somewhere to be.

“Mission’s off,” she said simply.

“Why?” Steve asked.

“You just got the night off and you’re asking ‘why’?” Nat smirked.

“Because Fury said so, Rogers. What else do you want? Need me to drive you home? Tuck you into bed?”

Steve glared and Maria didn’t bother to see it as she turned into her office and slammed the door shut behind her.

Nat folded her arms and stifled a yawn. “Well, I’m going to bed.”

Steve lingered for half a beat before heading to the garage to get his motorcycle.

\---

 _Sam Wilson’s House  
_ _0900 Hours_

Sam Wilson: bucky, steve  
Sam Wilson: steve, bucky  
Sam Wilson: you’re acquainted now  
Sam Wilson: and have each other’s numbers  
Sam Wilson: yay

Bucky stared at his phone and swallowed back his doubts. He added the number to his contacts and put him in as ‘Steve’ so he didn’t have to think about all the stuff he Googled last night about Steve Rogers: Captain America. He looked like such a tool in his stupid uniform (like, seriously, maybe it was okay in 1945 to look like a ballerina gymnast in a helmet, but did they have to keep dressing him like _that_ in the year of our Lord 2014? And did The Avengers hire a super talented seamstress to make all those suits? And did the seamstress need somebody to help with measurements, because Bucky had some free time--)

Bucky Barnes: hey

Then he waited anxiously. The reply came sooner than he thought-- _immediately_.

Steve: Hi!

Oh, that was… enthusiastic?

Bucky Barnes: heyyy

Bucky sat his phone on the kitchen counter so he could type easier than holding it in his one hand.

Bucky Barnes: !!   
Bucky Barnes: how r you

Steve: I’m doing well.

Ew, who _says_ that?

Steve: How are you, James?  
Steve: I’m sorry I left last night. I had fun.

Bucky Barnes: u can call me bucky if u want  
Bucky Barnes: most ppl do  
Bucky Barnes: ya it was rly fun  
Bucky Barnes: esp the part when i didnt kno ur captain America  
Bucky Barnes: :)

So then Bucky stared at his phone for almost two minutes while Steve typed, stopped typing, and started typing again. What the fuck?

Steve: Bucky, I’m sorry I didn’t get to properly introduce myself. I didn’t realize you and Sam are roommates. I feel like I know more about you than you do about me. So I was wondering if you’d like to get together sometime for coffee?

Bucky swiped his phone off the kitchen counter and watched it hit the floor. There was no way Captain America just asked him out. Did Captain America just ask him out? Bucky got on his knees and then hit the floor beside his phone, hoping the cold tile on his face would wake him up from this surreal dream.

It didn’t. Now Bucky was lying on the kitchen floor with a text from Steve Rogers: Captain America asking him out for coffee waiting for a reply.

Bucky Barnes: its ok  
Bucky Barnes: id love to steve  
Bucky Barnes: also i googled u last nite so we’re even  
Bucky Barnes: ;)

\---

“What the fuck do you wear on a date with Captain America?” Bucky lamented as he kicked through his pile of clothes.

Sam shrugged. “There’s really two ways of going about it. You could wear _nothing_.”

That got a t-shirt thrown at Sam’s face. Sam threw it back. “That smells like _ass_ , dude. When’s the last time you did laundry?”

Bucky muttered something about ‘last week’ but Sam was pretty sure it was ‘last month.’

“Be comfortable,” said Sam. “Those clothes still kind of, maybe, smell like a dryer sheet and not a dirty locker room. Wear that.”

“This?” Bucky gestured to his “outfit” which was literally what he grabbed from the clothes pile when he woke up because Sam complained if he didn’t wear pants. He had a The Doors shirt on with a red hoodie over it, leggings, and one white sock and one sock with pizzas stitched into it.

“Maybe find a matching sock?”

Bucky mouthed Sam’s words back at him with a whiny tone as he kicked his clothes back into an out of the way pile. “That’s a stupid idea. I’m gonna wear something _nice_.”

\---

Bucky stuffed his hands into the pockets of his red hoodie as he speed walked to the coffee shop. He took Sam’s advice only because these were the cleanest clothes he had, not because Sam was _right_ or anything. Bucky _did_ decide to get a haircut, though, which Sam had been bugging him about for at least a week, or whenever Bucky started whining about his hair getting long and having to actually brush it instead of only using his fingers.

Steve was already there, because of course was (Bucky wondered if Captain America was automatically enlisted as the highest-ranking Boy Scout, too, but that didn’t come up in the Google Search). Leaning against his motorcycle ( _really, Rogers_?) with his hands in his pockets, he looked like a model straight out of a magazine.

Which was weird to think about, considering one of the most popular pictures of him on the Internet was a blurry action shot of him punching an alien and making a really constipated face.

Thinking about Steve making an ugly face did not at all erase the fact that the man was handsome as all get out, especially when he perked up like an excited puppy when he saw Bucky.

Bucky, who just stepped in a giant puddle of dirty street water and got his sneakers and pants hem all wet.

“Hey,” Bucky said, sheepish.

Steve got up from leaning on his motorcycle. He wore a blue oxford shirt under a blue jacket with jeans. The short-haired man in front of him was _definitely_ Bucky Barnes, short hair and all. In fact, the new hair only showed off Bucky’s handsome face even better. “Hi! You got your hair cut.” Was Steve _blushing_? “I like it a lot.”

“Thanks.” Well, Bucky was blushing now, so there was that. Bucky rubbed a hand over his newly cut hair, still getting used to the way it felt.

“I mean, I liked your long hair too. But this is also nice.” Steve felt like he was giving awful compliments, but he really meant it. Bucky’s short hair was _really_ working for him, Steve decided, and he couldn’t exactly pin down what was so great about it other than it didn’t obscure his face. Geez Louise, his _face..._

Bucky just smiled at him.

“You--uhm--you look good.” Bucky’s face was _poetry_ and Steve wanted to _draw him_ but that stupid statement would have to suffice.

“So do you.” It felt like junior high, passing notes with a crush, and honestly Bucky hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Through all his nervousness, the effortless way he seemed to talk with Steve put him at ease. He almost felt carefree, even though this was a first date.

Once they got their coffees, they sat outside on the patio. For being mid-October, it was still warm and sunny, and Steve let Bucky borrow his sunglasses since he ended up with the sun in his face.

“Okay, now be honest,” said Steve. “Do people actually… go out and get coffee together?”

“I guess so. You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve been single since you were--” Bucky stopped himself. Self-deprecating jokes were okay when they were about him, but maybe Steve wouldn’t appreciate Bucky referencing when he was frozen.

“On ice?” Steve finished with a playful grin.

“Yeah.” Bucky looked down at his cup of coffee with a grin. “Exactly.”

“What’s Captain America doing asking random bartenders out for coffee?”

“Can I be really honest with you right now?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder and looked at Steve with a gleam in his eye. “Yeah, man. I read on the Internet you can’t lie.”

“What--oh,” Steve chuckled and shook his head. “It’s, uhm, I mean--I’m so bad at lying you can tell right away it’s not the truth, so… Okay, right. Well, when I first saw you, I thought you were cute.”

“You should have seen me with _two_ arms.”

They both laughed and Bucky could breathe a small sigh of relief because, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought this whole thing might have been a way for Steve to make friends. Like platonic friends. Which would still be cool, but Bucky would have to fix the image of constipated Captain America over Steve’s face on him to get rid of his crush. And that would be a bother.

“Then, uhm, I found out you’re one of Sam’s best friends, and… I really wanted to get to know you.”

“Did my preference for men also help?” Bucky asked and immediately took a sip of coffee. Steve’s expression soured a bit and he shook his head.

“I didn’t know, at first, like when I asked you for coffee, and then… uhm, Sam mentioned it.” His face started getting red. “I’m sorry, this isn’t exactly easy for me to talk about because I’ve never… I mean…”

“It’s okay if you like guys.”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, I think I do. I’ve never been with one.”

“Doesn’t matter if you have or not. You just kinda… know.” Bucky offered a reassuring smile. If somebody had asked him three days ago what he would think about talking to Steve Rogers about his sexual preferences, he would have keeled over laughing. But it wasn’t like Bucky was an expert on the topic, either. “The Internet is really helpful about this stuff, too. I mean, the good web sites. You know about good sites and bad sites right?”

“I know there’s a ‘Dark Web’?”

“Okay, we’ll get you some … books, maybe.”

Steve laughed, which was nice, because he had a hearty laugh that was highly infectious. Bucky found himself laughing, too. They kept talking--Steve seeming more interested in hearing about Bucky’s life, and less interested in bringing up anything about growing up or what he was doing now--and eventually the inevitable topic came up.

“You served in Afghanistan, then?” Steve asked, and his voice was so gentle Bucky felt like he didn’t have to dodge the question.

“Yup.” Bucky turned his head away and, like a switch going off, he got anxious about sitting outside, all the buildings and windows and people around. “I saw more combat than most.”

Steve nodded. His face grew stony and somber and he looked down at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It happened. It’s over.” _Tell my brain that_. “You’ve seen your fair share, too. Still do, right?”

“The Avengers… It’s nothing like the war. But I got used to being in the army, I guess working with the Avengers is just my way of trying to fit in.”

“Dude. You wear blue tights and carry around a giant shield. That is _not_ fitting in.”

\---

Two hours of talking later, Bucky discovered that Steve had a record player but lamented how few records he had (“only a couple old standards from back in the day”), and Bucky offered to bring over some records since he had a ton, but no record player. Steve offered to drive them back to Sam’s place, so he lent Bucky his helmet, and Bucky had his first motorcycle ride.

“You drive really fast for an old dude!” Bucky shouted over the breeze. He clung for dear life to Steve with his single arm up until he turned the engine off in the driveway. Maybe this was some sort of superhero trust exercise--well, _it was working_. Bucky wished he didn’t have a dumb helmet over his head (note: please wear dumb helmets on your head while riding motorcycles) because it would probably feel nice to rest his face on Steve’s back.

“Honey, we’re home,” Bucky called out as he opened the front door. “I found this random slob off the street, can we keep him?”

“Hi, Sam,” Steve called out.

“Hey, in here!” Sam said from the living room.

They found Sam on the couch with a redheaded woman, and both of them were holding glasses of red wine. “Nice hair, Buck. You look like Luke Skywalker.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment from your nerd ass,” Bucky grumbled.

“Hey, Rogers,” said the woman.

“Nat?”

She raised and dropped her hand like the answer was obvious (and it was, because that was definitely Natasha Romanoff sharing wine with Sam Wilson on Sam Wilson’s couch).

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Steve asked. Bucky snorted and went to go collect some records from his stash of stuff in the hall closet.

“Oh, Sammy, I thought you were going to teach Steve about the birds and the bees.”

“I thought _you_ were,” Sam nudged her with his elbow. “I’ve had to teach him about Snapchat. It’s really time consuming.”

“I know about the birds and the bees,” Steve grumbled and folded his arms. “I didn’t know you two were an _item_ , is all.”

Sam and Nat continued staring at Steve, then Nat said: “Aw, Sammy, I thought you were going to teach Steve about casual sex.”

From down the hall, Bucky accidentally hit his head on the closet door and yelled “FUCK!”

\---

When they got back to Steve’s apartment, Bucky insisted that Steve get out his records and play a few tracks.

“I actually like old jazz and stuff,” Bucky said. Steve picked out a Glenn Miller album and played “Moonlight Serenade,” and they both stood staring at the record player and listening. It was one of those songs Bucky knew he’d heard before, but had never really paid attention to. Steve got this distant look on his face like he was in another time.

“Ever dance to this one?” Bucky heard himself ask. “People don’t really dance like that anymore.”

Steve shook his head. “Watched a lot of people dance to it, though.”

Bucky fell silent and let the music fill in the space between them. The horn hits were almost lazy while the woodwinds built up the melody and it all sounded very slow and sweet and pretty. “I’ve never danced to it, either.”

“I wouldn’t know how,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“Can’t be that hard.” Finding himself bold, or at least still hyped up on coffee, Bucky stepped forward and placed his hand on Steve’s waist. Steve looked down at where his hand was and grinned, a little embarrassed as he lifted his own hand and placed it on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I think I’m supposed to hold your other hand,” Bucky said. “Sorry.”

“Shssh.” Steve snaked his other arm around Bucky’s waist and placed his hand on the small of Bucky’s back, pulled him closer. Bucky’s face pressed into Steve’s muscular shoulder and he got a big whiff of Steve’s cologne, and his knees nearly gave out. The sensation of touch overwhelmed all of his senses--Steve was very well-muscled, and yet he felt soft and warm. The song played on and they simply stood, swaying slightly, definitely not dancing like “back in the day” but it sure felt right.

“Is this okay?” Steve asked after a minute.

“Oh, yeah. God, yeah.” If Bucky sounded desperate for this, he was, and he wouldn’t deny being held like this hadn’t happened… ever, but definitely before he went to war.

“Moonlight Serenade” ended and something much peppier came on, but they stayed wrapped up in each other, each of their heads resting on the other’s shoulder. Bucky was somewhere between wanting to cry or fall asleep. He shut his eyes briefly, just to bask in how close they were.

“Hey,” said Steve, “I kinda… wanna kiss you?”

“I kinda wanna kiss you too.”

They parted just enough so their faces hovered near, and Steve took the dive and planted a kiss on Bucky’s mouth. Bucky didn’t think he’d go right for it so he didn’t get to kiss him back before he pulled away.

“That sucked,” said Bucky.

“Show me, then.”

Bucky pressed up on his toes, lifted his chin, and pressed his lips against Steve’s. His lips were surprisingly soft, and Bucky held him there for a few more seconds before he broke off.

“What about…” Steve started, then he kissed Bucky and parted his lips. Bucky made a muffled _mmph_ of surprise and kissed him right back like that.

“Okay,” Bucky said when they parted again. “That _didn’t_ suck.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s all the compliments you’re getting right now,” Bucky teased. Steve was still holding him close and both of them were blushing profusely. Steve looked at him very intensely--deep, blue ocean eyes Bucky could get lost for days in--and he looked like he wanted to say something so he waited.

Steve searched desperately for the words. This felt _right_ , and it wasn’t just because Steve never allowed himself to get this close and this personal with anyone in his life. It wasn’t all comfortable for him--his heart was racing and his mind buzzed with thoughts and doubts. Worries that burgeoned on catastrophic, like if something happened to either of them while he was on a mission. Maybe this was why he never went for anybody before--he couldn’t always protect them, or _himself_ , could he?

“Bucky?”

Bucky lifted his eyes from Steve’s chest to his face. “Yeah?”

“I don’t wanna sound crazy, but…” Steve wet his lips, searched for his words. He pressed his hand into Bucky’s back a little harder and grounded himself. Loneliness suited him, Steve thought, and it was how he convinced himself to go on after waking up in the twenty-first century. But, God, it was the _worst_. Now he had The Avengers, and Natasha, and Sam--the more people he let in, the more he wanted something… _more_. And he caught Bucky that first day at the VA with that same look of forlorn hopelessness--feeling lost and alone in a room full of people. Steve knew what that was, knew what kind of baggage came with that thousand yard stare. That’s when Steve knew he had to at least talk to this handsome stranger in the VA cafeteria.

“What could possibly sound crazy coming from a guy that wears an American flag leotard and was born in 1902?”

Steve spluttered and started laughing. “Can we please just have a _moment_?”

“Ah, shit. Steve, we don’t have ‘moments’ in the twenty-first century!”

“That’s _sad_. Fine, I won’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“I like you. A lot. I think you’re smart, and funny, and you’re… you make me feel good.”

“Ew. That’s disgusting. I’m not even like that. Are you sure you’re not talking about someone else? Maybe you’re mistaking me for somebody, what with… my hair…” The more Bucky tried to deny it, the more sad Steve got. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I gotta say, I’ve been a depressed piece of shit pretty much since I got discharged, and being around you even a little bit has made me happy.” Brow furrowed, Bucky averted his eyes. “I haven’t been happy in a long ass time.”

“Neither have I.”

Bucky nodded, not really sure why he was getting so choked up. Guys like them could say a lot without saying a lot. Maybe Bucky didn’t know exactly just how bad it had been for Steve since waking up in the twenty-first century (the loneliness, the fear, the guilt, the regret), but he was damn sure Steve wasn’t all stars and stripes forever or only a poster boy for the Avengers. And damn if Bucky didn’t really, _really_ like the guy.

“Can you play one of your records?”

“Oh, yeah… uh… shit, I brought a bunch of prog rock…”

“Prog rock?”

“It’s pretentious as fuck and not great to make out to.” Bucky’s face was so, so red as he dug through the records he brought. He decided on a newer album by Beirut called _No No No_.

“Nice,” said Steve. “Very… chill.”

Bucky giggled. “You sound weird when you try and be hip.”

“Shut up and kiss me, then.”

 _Maybe_ the kissing moved to the couch and _maybe_ this time Sam had to text Bucky at midnight asking where he was and if he was coming home. Bucky responded with an eggplant emoji and the A-OK hand emoji, to which Sam responded with a gif of Jonah Hill screaming with joy and waving his hands on either side of his face.

\---

 _Sam Wilson’s House  
_ _0800 Hours_

“Walk of shaaaame!” Sam called at Bucky as he came in.

“Is that like, a good walk of shame or--” Bucky trailed off when Sam barged into the kitchen and pulled him into a hug.

“I want details, but I’ll read them in your journal later. Gotta go to work now. Bye!”

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered. Sam blew a kiss at him and left.

Bucky pulled out his phone because Becca texted him about 80 times (an overstatement), but when he saw what she sent he scrunched up his nose.

Becca Barnes: WHAT IS THIS!!!  
Becca Barnes: [link to Steve Rogers’ verified Instagram account selfie of Steve and Bucky together]  
Becca Barnes: ARE YOU HANGING OUT WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA  
Becca Barnes: HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU KNOW STEVE ROGERS???  
Becca Barnes: HELLO!!!  
Becca Barnes: IS HIS ARM AROUND YOU??  
Becca Barnes: ARE YOU WEARING HIS SUNGLASSES  
Becca Barnes: OMG YOU ARE

The messages went on in a similar pattern (in all caps, accusatory, disdainful, excited, etc.). Bucky yawned and texted her back.

Bucky Barnes: he likes the hook hand becca  
Becca Barnes: WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAtTHEACTUALFUCK  
Bucky Barnes: jk  
Becca Barnes: !! ?????  
Bucky Barnes: i dont have a hook hand  
Bucky Barnes: but if i did he would  
Bucky Barnes: i think we’re dating but pls dont tell ppl  
Becca Barnes: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
Bucky Barnes: i hope that says ok buck im ur sis and i respect u  
Becca Barnes: OKAY BUT WOW  
Becca Barnes: don’t think I’m not calling u later cuz i am but I’ve been up all night so I’m going to bed now  
Becca Barnes: love you bye

The kitchen was quiet and still and morning sunlight poured through the window above the sink. There was an empty wine bottle on the counter with the cork sitting next to it, and a few dirty dishes in the sink. Bucky stared at his phone for a couple seconds, then he set it aside and straightened up the kitchen. Finally, he picked up his phone again and opened his contacts. Made a call.

He reached her voicemail so he sighed. He could have texted her, but she’d want to hear his voice. “Hey, Mom. It’s Bucky. Wanted to let you know I had my appointment with prosthetics. I’m getting a peg arm and I’m going to be a pirate. Since I won’t get good service on the high seas I’ll have to contact you via raven, or parrot, or something. Uhm. Anyway. Give me a call back, or whatever, I’m off work today. I gotta talk to you about something. Well. Love you bye.”

When he hung up, he saw he had a text message. From Steve. His face got all heated and he opened the text with a grin.

Steve: Hey, Bucky! I know you just left, but I wanted to know if you’re free later. Maybe we could go for a ride or something.  
Steve: I mean a motorcycle ride  
Steve: !  
Steve: I feel like I’m texting you too much. You can just ignore me if you want.

“Geez,” Bucky said at his phone.

Bucky Barnes: ur a dork  
Bucky Barnes: we could go to this antique flea market if u want  
Bucky Barnes: its got weird stuff to look at  
Bucky Barnes: not that ur not weird enough to look at  
Steve: WOW  
Steve: Okay! I’ll pick you up at 1?  
Bucky Barnes: cool c u then :)

Then Bucky paused.

Bucky Barnes: <3

Cool, that seemed like an appropriate text to send your super soldier boyfriend.


End file.
